


JohnLock: Just A Dream

by KingOfHearts709



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Denial, M/M, The Reichenbach Fall, dream - Freeform, sort of like insanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 01:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4328739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOfHearts709/pseuds/KingOfHearts709
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just a dream, John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	JohnLock: Just A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this took a 180 U-turn into FuckThat Ville. xoxo

John stood on the street, looking up at the man on the edge of the roof. His phone pressed to his ear, he listened.  
It didn't make sense.  
Sherlock wouldn't do this, not ever. He wouldn't make up some criminal.  
Sherlock said it was a lie, wrapped in a truth. That way, people would believe it.  
Now it was a big truth, wrapped in the tiniest of lies.  
"That's what people do, don't they?" Sherlock asked through the phone. "Leave a note." John shook his head in disbelief.  
"Leave a note when?" he asked, befuddled.  
"Goodbye, John."  
Those were the last words John would ever want to hear from Sherlock.  
"No, don't..." John struggled to get through, to make Sherlock step away from that bloody roof edge.  
So that's what he did.  
"Sherlock!" John screamed. Sherlock held his arms wide out.  
And then he fell.  
"Sher..." John muttered.  
And just before he hit the ground-  
"No!" John yelled as he shot up from the bed. He looked around, adjusting to the brightness of his room in 221B. He sighed and relaxed a little.  
It was just a dream.  
Bloody hell, he didn't know what he would do if that happened. He'd probably blame himself.  
John grabbed a jumper, a shirt and a pair of trousers as he stood, quickly putting them on. He checked the clock. God, it was already noon.  
He hoped Sherlock was in his chair today, just like he was the day before.  
Rushing down to the living area, he smiled a little to greet the familiar ambiance of its cluttered mess.  
"Morning, Sherlock," he said as he headed to the kitchen. He didn't expect Sherlock to answer. Instead, John started the kettle and pulled out two mugs for tea. After making Sherlock's tea, he entered the living room and set his tea on the nightstand next to Sherlock's chair.  
John didn't expect Sherlock to drink it. He never did anyways.  
After making his own tea the way he liked it, he returned to the area and sat in his chair, picking up the newspaper from the day before and skimming through it.  
"We can take a day off, I think," he said aloud. He got no approval from the detective.  
John never got anything out of Sherlock anymore. Not a word, not a movement, not even a glance. But John was perfectly okay with that. He knew why Sherlock didn't talk anymore.  
Sherlock was dead. And he'd been dead for a long time. The only thing that lay in Sherlock's chair now were his unoccupied clothes. Set up so it looked like he was still sitting there.  
John had done that. He couldn't face seeing his chair empty. He didn't want to. So if the closest he could get was set up his clothes like that, then John would do it. Sometimes, he even wore Sherlock's coat and pretended that he was hugging him. That he was still there.  
He. Wasn't. Dead.  
He couldn’t be.  
John made everything up now. In every conversation, he carried out on his own when Sherlock's voice didn't join in. He created this.  
It was all just a dream.


End file.
